


something else i ought to have seen since the beginning

by clickingkeyboards



Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Happy Birthday Flo, M/M, Meeting the Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: A young man, rather the picture of an aesthete, was introduced to Lucy some time before lunch.Lucy soon-to-be Mountfitchet has her suspicions about a certain Cambridge student, who sparkles at Bertie in a strange way and acts... well, exactly how she does towards Felix.Happy Birthday, Flo! I hope you like this!
Relationships: Felix Mountfitchet/Lucy Mountfitchet, Harold Mukherjee/Bertie Wells, Lucy Mountfitchet & Harold Mukherjee
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	something else i ought to have seen since the beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshinedflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinedflower/gifts).



A young man, rather the picture of an aesthete, was introduced to Lucy some time before lunch. He wore a colourful neckerchief and twinkling grin, and he shook her hand and introduced himself as, “Harold Mukherjee, ma’am.”

“Lucy soon-to-be Mountfitchet. It’s a pleasure, young man.”

His grave expression burst into happiness rather oddly when he looked at Bertie for reassurance, a quick glance that only she caught. “Delighted to meet anybody who can charm Bertie Wells,” she added, and he laughed warmly.

“I believe it was very much him doing the charming.”

Bertie, straightening his jacket and talking to Felix, caught Harold’s eye and told him, in an entirely non-serious strict voice, to stop telling lies. The two of them twinkled at each other in the most extraordinary way, as if there was nobody else in the room.

A quote stuck in Lucy’s mind as the two scholars melted away to talk to each other, adjusting each other’s jackets and brushing eyelashes off of cheeks, fixing askew strands of hair. 

_ Do you believe in soulmates?  _ Felix had asked her once.

She had said yes. 

* * *

Harold Mukherjee was a reserved young man who spoke through gestures, and Lucy couldn’t help but stare. While Bertie showered him with praise, saying that he was a brilliant tutor and an excellent friend, laughing that they would all be lost without his expertise, his hands flitted about underneath the conversation and worked in his own drops of kindness.

He tucked a green carnation into Bertie’s buttonhole before they walked into the dining hall, re-tied his tie and smoothed down the lapels of his blazer. At the table, he caught Bertie’s hand for brief and daring moments between courses, and studiously paid attention to how much Bertie drank. As he complimented Daisy and Hazel’s hats, and praised George for his knowledge of scripture, he took hold of glasses that Bertie poured for himself, and gave him warning looks filled with warmth while passing the offending glasses to others at the table. Lucy noticed how they shared a champagne flute, and how Bertie took the meat from Harold’s plate without question.

“You’re looking at me, Mrs Mountfitchet,” he said softly, and she determinedly ignored the burst of happiness that Felix’s surname gave her.

“I’m curious.”

Instead of responding, he merely gave an uncertain smile and turned away, chuckling when he noticed that both Felix and Daisy were turning their napkins into origami swans out of stress. As he laughed at Bertie’s stories and teased Alfred Cheng and Amanda Price, smiled at the charming Alexander and playfully needled his brother, he kept turning back to Lucy, feeling her eyes on him. “Pray tell, ma’am, is there something I’m doing wrong?” Without looking away from Lucy, he reached out for their shared champagne flute that Bertie was holding out for him to take. “Thank you, dear.”

He froze and stared at Lucy like a deer caught between two hunters, unsure which way to turn. With jarring clarity, he remembered Bertie calling Lucy a law enforcement officer, and felt a horrid sickness rising in his throat at the idea of such a simple term of endearment outing them in a fraction of a second. 

“I’m glad,” she said, and smiled at him kindly, accepting a bottle of wine from a passing waiter and offering it out. “Do you drink red, Mister Mukherjee?”

“Yes,” he breathed, too surprised to form the shape of words in his mouth. Holding out his glass, he recovered himself and said, “Yes, I do.”

* * *

After a long lunch, a party in Harold’s rooms was underway. Christmas music sang out from the record player as another bottle of wine was opened. 

“Give me a glass!” George Mukherjee cried boisterously, and Harold shoved him and called him something incredibly rude in that obscure brotherly way before acquiescing and handing him a glass of wine.

“Can I have one?” Bertie asked. He was sitting on the table, eating Christmas cake while Amanda half-heartedly scolded him.

“Course, love,” he said absently, pouring a glass and handing it to him.

Taking a drink, Bertie replied, “Cheers,” and leant down to kiss his cheek.

Harold rolled his eyes and declared that he was going to go and get more festive foods from the kitchen. “Don’t burn down my rooms, they cost a penny,” he warned as he left, and George showily mimed striking a match behind his back, to the tune of much laughter. Excusing herself from Felix’s side, Lucy followed the chuckling young man through the doorway.

“Mister Mukherjee?”

He started, letting go of the knife that he had just picked up. “Yes?” After a pause, during which Lucy shut the door, he added in a quieter voice, “Look… Bertie said that you’re an officer of the law. I want to make it known that I’m… I’m afraid of you because of that.” He was jittery and fluttery, similar to Bertie, who jolted when nervous and fizzed when happy.

“It’s nothing to be afraid of.” She chuckled and looked off to the side. “I hardly work for the Metropolitan lot anymore, really. Felix is dragging me further and further into his business, not that I mind.”

“I sometimes think that the Wellses infect people with this aversion to leading a quiet life,” he replied as he stirred a pot of tea. “Bertie seems to be the only one unwilling to pass on the family curse.”

Smiling at his phrasing, Lucy crossed the room and lightly touched his shoulder. “I’m not here to police you. It’s not my business what happy and consenting adults get up to behind closed doors, and I can see that you make Bertie very happy indeed.” He met her eyes and smiled, and she took it as permission to continue. “Be good to him, won’t you? He needs someone like you.”

“And I need someone like him,” Harold replied, a genuine and bright smile on his face. “I’ll be as good as the god’s favour allows, Mrs Mountfitchet, and rest assured that Brahma allows me to be very good indeed.”

She nodded and grinned at him. “I’m glad, Harold. Could I carry that teapot for you?”

“Please do,” he said, passing it over and mocking a curtsy when she took it. “Warn them that it’s peppermint tea before Amanda splutters it all over the carpet with disgust  _ again _ .”

A few minutes later, the food was replenished and beautifully set out, and Harold was comfortably settled beside Bertie on one of the sofas. “Your aunt is bloody terrifying,” he whispered to Bertie, who smiled.

“The fact that you’re buying into this insanity for the sake of me is astonishing.”

Lucy caught Harold’s eye from across the room, and winked. He stifled a laugh and said, “Of course I am. I love you, don’t I?”


End file.
